


Fire and Ice

by Jairissa



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-28
Updated: 2011-11-28
Packaged: 2017-10-26 15:28:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,047
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/284863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jairissa/pseuds/Jairissa
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Books are boring enough as it is; sticking poetry in there should be considered cruel and unusual punishment. How Remus Lupin finally got his poetry book back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire and Ice

**Author's Note:**

> Heavy quoting from, and terrible interpretations of, the works of Robert Frost.
> 
> Written for the HP Traditions fic fest, based on the tradition "Something Old, Something New, Something Borrowed and Something Blue."

***** Something Old *****

  


***** 1982 *****

It was a kindness Remus would not have expected of Azkaban: that when a prisoner was interred there permanently, their worldly belongings, all those not held in Gringotts, were sent to their next of kin. Why Remus had remained that for Sirius when the man had decided to betray them all so badly perplexed him enough that he refused to think of it. The inner workings of the mind of Sirius Black were the last things he wished to think of at this time.

Tea. Yes, tea was something he could think of. Warm, comforting tea that seemed to light one's body as much as desire could, with none of the desperation and loss that came with it. The want of tea meant, of course, that he had none. It had been a choice between that and paying for the slowly collapsing roof over his head, which at the time had seemed a logical decision.

He thought now that he would prefer the tea.

Remus was quite positive that he knew how this would go. He would stare at the box from all angles, considering whether it was worthwhile opening. Perhaps he would put it away for a few days. Normally it would be brought back out when Sirius found it and badgered him in curiosity; now it would have to wait for his own vague interest.

When he had become good and sick of the sight of the outside of it, he would open the box slowly, refusing to look inside for as many days as he could still breathe. Then, and only then, when he was weak enough to need that last trace of the man who had destroyed him, would he open it.

No.

He decided that more easily than he had imagined. No, he would not conform to that pattern. He would not conform to any pattern. He would open the package, and he would dispose of the contents immediately and he would never need to think of them again.

Yes, that was the best course of action. The box was easy work, after all. The spells guarding it came off without effort, as did the flimsy packaging. The clothes he threw to into the corner with the intention of burning them later. The remains of unplanned pranks, and new inventions, he banished, both from the room and his memory.

Still he was disappointed. He had expected more. If he was honest with himself, as he tried to be as often as possible, he had expected some form of _answer_. Why had Sirius chosen the one thing none of them would ever have expected of him? Why had he turned on his brother? If he had chosen all of this, why had he not killed Remus too, and spared him this pitiful imitation of living?

The remaining shirt on the bottom of the box was like a curse. It had been _James'_ , Remus remembered it clearly. Sirius had injured himself during a prank; rather than watch him bleed, James had removed his shirt and wrapped it around the wound.

Remus gagged, throwing the shirt viciously across the room. It gave a satisfying thump against the wall that bothered him, and he was forced to acknowledge that fabric did not make noise when discarded, however forcefully.

Kicking the material away, determined not to touch another of these things with his bare flesh, Remus admitted bafflement at the sight of a book. Sirius had never been much for reading, unless it was 5 minutes before exams or there were naked pictures inside. This book was neither a textbook nor a skin magazine: it had a faded blue cloth cover, and any words printed there had long since worn away.

The first page was blank, save for one inscription.

 _Dearest Remus. Happy 17th birthday. Love always._

Of course. _That_ book. It would have to be, wouldn't it? Remus closed his eyes against the well of tears he was so talented at forcing back, wishing more than ever for the ice rather than the fire. Well, that of course changed everything. This book could not be banished, nor could it be burned. No, it needed far different treatment than that. Poisoning, perhaps, if a book could be poisoned. Drowning, in black dye so that the words would never again be readable.

It was easier to rip the pages out, he thought blankly, turning them over in an attempt to find a good place to start. Then he could drown them all individually, and prolong the book's torture as long as he was able. If he felt particularly violent, he could tear each of the pages into a thousand separate pieces, and use them to fill the overly large toes of his second-hand shoes.

Still his eyes flickered over the words as he flicked the paper forcefully, a habit so ingrained in him that he could not have stopped it if he tried. So many of these poems had been read to him by his parents, and his grandparents. They had all had a love of poetry, most especially his grandmother, who had been a Muggle herself.

The one on this page, for example, he recalled perfectly. It had been read at his grandfather's funeral; it seemed more appropriate now than it had then.

 _Where had I heard this wind before  
Change like this to a deeper roar?  
What would it take my standing there for,  
Holding open a restive door,  
Looking down hill to a frothy shore?  
Summer was past and day was past.  
Somber clouds in the west were massed.  
Out in the porch's sagging floor,  
leaves got up in a coil and hissed,  
Blindly struck at my knee and missed.  
Something sinister in the tone  
Told me my secret must be known:  
Word I was in the house alone  
Somehow must have gotten abroad,  
Word I was in my life alone,  
Word I had no one left but God._

God. Remus did not believe in this concept, and perhaps that made it all the more true. _In my life alone_ , but for something that also did not exist to him. If he sank to his knees, his hands clasped, he could almost believe; if he managed that, would it make the room less empty and cold?

Would prayer be a viable solution? What else had he to do? He could not work, without admitting to everyone what he was. Perhaps they knew regardless? If Sirius felt detached enough from them to murder his beloved brother and his brother's love, what would Remus' secret mean to him? They could well be coming from him at this moment, and what would Remus do?

Nothing, he supposed. The cold seemed a tempting break from reality. In cold, he would not need to think.

He could not summon the energy for this. He threw the book against the wall, and made a point not to look at where it fell. He would never look at it again, if he had his way.

***** Something New *****

  


***** 1996 *****

Considering that, were it not for the hospitality of the Order, Remus would once again be homeless, starving and rather ratty, he supposed he should be more grateful than he was. Still, that was not an emotion he was well acquainted with nowadays. The last time he had felt it, it had turned out he was being used as a guard dog for an escaped lover.

Well, not a dog, he supposed. Although the genus appeared much the same to the untrained observer.

Why was avoidance not as easy it had once been? Once he had been able to hide from the things that he did not want to see, so successfully that he barely thought of them at all after a time. Was he so out of practice? Surely it was not a skill that needed much repetition to continue to be successful?

It had started this way the first time. Brief touches in the hallway when Sirius thought no one was watching them. Eyes that held far more mischief than they did innocence, leaving Remus baffled as to their meaning until much later. Innuendos that were held only the slightest bit more promise than they did laughter.

Remus intended, this time, to pretend to be as ignorant as he had the last. Ignorance, perhaps, would save him where avoidance could not.

Especially since Sirius knew these halls better than Remus ever could, as he supposed he should have expected. It did not matter where he hid, which room he locked himself in, Sirius would find him somehow, and Remus was faced with the reminder that he had betrayed himself.

Night brought relief. It meant sleep, and a few, brief hours respite from concern. The only concern there was this trip, the few moments it took to go from where he had been hiding to the small room assigned for him to rest in. There was almost comfort in seeing the house this way, in its natural state; the shadows hid the grime, and gave it a stark almost-beauty that made its desolation natural.

" _In going from room to room in the dark,  
I reached out blindly to save my face,  
But neglected, however lightly, to lace  
My fingers and close my arms in an arc.  
A slim door got in past my guard,  
And hit me a blow in the head so hard  
I had my native simile jarred.  
So people and things don't pair any more  
With what they used to pair with before._"

Remus shuddered. "Was that your favourite?" He asked unintentionally, voice far more bitter than he had intended. Remus supposed that it must have been; he couldn't have found the original, which seemed to require a knowledge of the words.

"No," Sirius said, a half-hopeful smile on his face. "I never worked that out. I read that one tonight."

He held out the book in offering, a near identical copy of the one Remus had discarded. Where he had found it, considering that he was forbidden to leave the house, Remus chose not to consider. If he knew, he would need to report it to Dumbledore, and then somehow take the blame for the common opinion that he had any ability to affect Sirius' behaviour.

"Self-flagellation isn't your style," Remus murmured, taking the book when he accepted that Sirius would not be letting his hand fall until he did. Sirius laughed, eyes alight with a relief that Remus did not think he had ever seen in them before.

"Contrition was," he replied. Remus added this to his list of things that he would not think of. That had been...a mistake. No one could have expected the consequences of releasing that piece of information to the wrong person.

Flipping the book open to the first page, he almost expected to see the inscription from his parents, waiting for him as though the time had not passed at all. His breath froze for a moment as he saw there was an inscription, although not the one he had expected.

 _I can't bear the cold. -Padfoot_

"Neither can I," Remus murmured, the book dropping from his numbed fingers. "However much I've turned to ice since."

He had not meant to discard the offering so cavalierly, although it offered a perfect opportunity to grip tightly onto Sirius' hair as the other man lifted him off his feet, dragging them both through the gaping door. Remus kicked his foot out, hoping that would be enough to slam it behind them, deterring watchers.

They were on the bed before he remembered to breathe, panic setting in quickly. He was not prepared for this, not in any sense of the word. "It's been thirteen years, Padfoot," he said hoarsely, refusing to relinquish his grip. "You can't quote poetry to me and assume that is enough to earn you a place in my bed."

"It's my bed," Sirius said with a dopey grin, appearing not put-out in the slightest. "I'd never use poetry to get someone into my bed, it might taint it permanently. You just can't scrub that sort of thing out of the sheets, you know."

Remus snorted, dropping to his back, pretending that he had not just let himself be inappropriately groped just because of a few words of Frost. "I give up," he said, more to himself. "It's a losing battle. I shall drive myself insane, which will be of no use to either of us."

"Us?" Sirius asked quietly, the grin fading from his face, replaced with the desperate hope Remus had become so used to seeing of late. Remus examined him carefully, wondering if he were already insane. It appeared to him as though there were two paths in front of him; the safe that would allow him a life of comfort, eradicating entirely the lump of fear in his throat.

The other was darker, unfamiliar. There were trees shadowing the road, roots that would trip his feet if he were not careful every step. At the end...well, he could not see that far; he had never been able to see that far.

"You always asked the hard questions," he said, eyeing the room. Had it changed much from Sirius' childhood? Or had he left it as it as, in an attempt to hold on to the things he had never wanted to let go of. "Always had the maddest plans."

"You loved me for it once," Sirius said quietly, a distinct lack of hope in his voice that made Remus' fists clench. He knew that hopelessness well.

"I love you for it still," he said shakily, the soft gasp from Sirius robbing him of courage rather than adding to it. "That does not make this an easier choice."

There was a tug at his hand, a warm wetness on his palm. "Moony, please," Sirius begged, and Remus turned his face away rather than see the tears.

***** Something Borrowed *****

  


***** 1978 *****

Remus had been sent a package, which was not at all unusual. What was, to him, the unusual fact was that this was a package from his parents. As far as Remus knew, they were no longer able to send him packages of any kind. That tended to be one of the many drawbacks of passing on. Remus hadn't believed until now that one could send packages from the afterlife.

"Let me see it," Sirius demanded, grabbing the carefully wrapped brown paper square out of Remus' hands, jostling him in an attempt to find the most convenient way to both rob his fellow Marauder and eat his syrup dipped sausage in the same moment. "Oh, and happy birthday."

Remus ducked instinctively; it tended to be a pattern that the words 'Happy Birthday' were followed either by an explosion of some description or physical pain that followed the newest Muggle fad Sirius had managed to discover over the Christmas holidays. In this case it was neither, and he could not help but be slightly hurt. Yes, it was unpleasant serving a detention for something he had been an unwilling beneficiary of, but that did not mean he wished for his birthday to be acknowledged with a mere four words.

"Hey, it's from your folks," Sirius announced, tossing it up in the air so that he could contort his neck to look at the bottom. Why he could not simply turn it over like a normal person was utterly beyond Remus. "Obvious where you get your plannings from, huh?"

Remus winced, almost hoping that he had been imagining things. This certainly made things more difficult. He used his considerably practiced resources to pluck the package out of the air before it could crash to the table, clutching it to his chest. He was stung by the cavalier treatment of such an obvious treasure, an accusation that he knew he could not hide from his eyes.

"Hey, Moony," Sirius said, a brief flash of pity in his eyes. He would receive an apology in a moment, Remus knew, and he didn't want to hear it. What he wanted, suddenly and overwhelmingly, was _quiet_ , something that it was difficult to get in the Great Hall at the best of times, and even more so when there were three Marauders surrounding him.

"I am going for a walk," he announced stiffly, exiting the mercilessly loud room before he could be caught. With any luck it would take Sirius at least a minute to de-tangle himself from his beloved toast, which should give Remus exactly enough time to vanish enough that he would not be found until someone had the foresight to check the map.

It was easy to get away. Easier still to hide himself behind a statue in a room he was quite sure hadn't been used in weeks and shed very unmanly tears. He had been doing so well, he had thought. He had not cried once in public. He had avoided mentioning his parents in every second sentence, and had once gone almost an hour without thinking of them at all. What more could be asked of him?

He would not cry, he refused to. He was an adult, and there were far better ways to cope with grief than this. He had shed his tears over the summer, there was absolutely no purpose for them here.

"Don't apologise," he said emphatically as the footsteps that had echoed down the corridor stopped beside him, the warmth of a soft body sliding down the wall to press against Remus' side. A soft kiss was pressed to his shoulder, which gave Remus the courage to finally look up.

"Wouldn't dream of it," Sirius said loftily, taking Remus' hand in his own, gazing with barely disguised curiosity at the strange pattern of water drops on the thick paper. "Not my fault you take an hour to open your presents."

"I do not," Remus argued, a habit by now. After all, that was the proper way to do it. One never knew when they would need a spare piece of wrapping paper for an irresponsible friend or lover that had, once again, managed to forget the simple idea that a gift was much more of a surprise when one could not see it before it was received.

Nevertheless, he slid his finger gently under the string, pushing it off and staring at the expanse of brown for a moment. Sirius gave Remus' captured hand a squeeze, and Remus took a resolute breath.

A book, of course. His parents always sent him books. This one had the label of a wizarding bookstore in Shropshire, near their home. They must have placed the order early to give the store time to track down a Muggle author. Remus supposed there wouldn't have been anyone to tell the store that they had lost people who sent the order, which made it rather a shock to receive.

"Your parents sent you a book about cold?" Sirius asked, bafflement in his voice as he traced the book's cover. "That's a bit weird, isn't it?"

Remus laughed, entirely unable to help himself. "Robert Frost is a Muggle poet, you philistine. If you had read any of that book I leant you last year, you would have known that," he said in amusement, kicking Sirius gently.

"I think I'd rather not," the dark haired boy declared. "Books are boring enough as it is; sticking poetry in there should be considered cruel and unusual punishment."

Remus snorted, thumbing through the book gently until he found his favourite, the one he had wanted Sirius to read from the beginning.

 _Some say the world will end in fire,  
Some say in ice.  
From what I've tasted of desire  
I hold with those who favour fire.  
But if it had to perish twice,  
I think I know enough of hate  
To say that for destruction ice  
Is also great  
And would suffice._

"That reminds me of you," he said, his skin burning exactly that way in each place that Sirius' seemingly over-hot flesh pressed to his own.

"I suppose I am that good -- 's no fun if I can't make the world end each time," Sirius grinned happily, then yelled as Remus swatted the hard-backed book over his head. It was the only thing one could do sometimes, really. "I just mean..."

"You mean you have no appreciation for the arts," Remus sighed, shaking his head in disappointment. "And I have managed to teach you nothing over the course of our time together. I blame myself, of course."

Sirius kicked him, snatched the book from his hand, and eyed it warily. "Tell you what," he said finally, looking as though he were about to walk into battle with no more than a particularly flighty butterfly by his side. "How about I borrow this, and...uh...tell you my favourite?"

Remus shook his head affectionately. "You are, of course, welcome to try," he said, not holding much hope for the promise. "I chose to believe otherwise. In fact, I put my wager on receiving that book back, covered in a potion I do not wish to decipher, within the week."

"Will not," Sirius muttered mutinously, eyes determined. "Just watch me."

***** Something Blue *****

  


***** 1999 *****

"Of course I won't marry you," Remus frowned over his breakfast, toast paused halfway to his mouth. He should have seen this coming, he supposed. It was his own fault, really; whenever he chose toast rather than cereal for his breakfast it was almost guaranteed that the day would be strange.

"Why not?" Sirius asked, voice full of offence. He crossed his arms over his chest, ignoring entirely the decadent breakfast Remus had taken so much care to make for them. "I asked you without anything that blew up or hurt, which you always said was the rule."

"Because you're an ungrateful food waster," Remus said shortly, dropping his toast on his plate. It seemed like a decent excuse, considering he had no idea why else he would be saying no. Well, other than an onset of unexplainable panic that made him want to run to the floo and not care at all where it took him. "And you still have no appreciation of culture."

Sirius' face fell, and Remus immediately felt ashamed. He supposed, logically, there was no reason at all why they shouldn't marry, other than the strangeness of the concept in general. "We'd need to tell everyone," he pointed out, wondering slightly at that. He would have thought it obvious, considering that they'd moved into a place of their very own the moment Sirius had been granted a pardon, and neither one of them ever dated. "Not to mention the cost, and the...Sirius, why are you looking so guilty?"

Sirius looking innocent, as he so often did before something went catastrophically wrong, was a terrifying sight. To see him go to the point of real guilt made Remus want to board over the windows, dig a bomb shelter under the house and refuse to come out until he had genuine proof the apocalypse was over.

"You told me that I needed to stop distracting you the other day," Sirius said. His voice had far too much cheerfulness for Remus' comfort, and he wanted desperately to bury his head in his hands and wish it all away. "So I sent out wedding invitations."

Remus considered this for a few moments, running the idea through in his head. "Ah," he said finally, almost hoping that he would get a headache so that he would have an excuse for thinking this fuzzily. "And when did you schedule this blessed event for?"

"Your birthday," Sirius said cautiously, waving a hand in front of Remus' face. "Moony, are you all right?"

"I'm fine," Remus said patiently, batting the hand away. "Sirius, my birthday is today, as I'm sure you remember. You bought me a present that we established, considering how much it looked like a motorcycle, was really for you. You also bought me a copy of Byron, which was quite considerate, thank you, and attempted to serve cake for breakfast, which is why the oven is in pieces."

Not that he could blame Sirius entirely for that. Their oven was notoriously unreliable; it seemed to have a vendetta against anything that required more than a rudimentary knowledge of cooking, although he did not know why. This was why Muggle appliances were superior. They did not develop personalities of their own.

"I thought it would be a good birthday present," Sirius said, starting to look rather displeased that Remus was not immediately excited about his plan. "Isn't this how your Dad proposed to your Mum?"

"Yes, it was," Remus softened slightly, running through a thousand more protests in his head. "However, he had also ensured that he had planned it carefully beforehand, and that all the deposits were refundable."

Sirius rolled his eyes, gesturing wildly. "We don't need deposits. We can do it all here. We can get Harry to marry us, and I even bought the rings, see?"

Remus refused to look at the golden bands Sirius held out, taking a deep breath. "There are legalities behind it, Padfoot," he explained patiently, fairly sure an eighteen year old boy was not certified to conduct a wedding. "Not to mention all the traditions I would like to see incorporated. I've not had time to research them."

"Oh, I've taken care of the last bit," Sirius said confidently, pulling a package from under the table. "I was going to get you a ring or something, but that was a bit girly. Plus, I figured this was better."

Remus, half afraid he would end up bright yellow from opening it, was quite surprised to find yet another copy of Frost. He would have thought the one Sirius had bought for Grimmauld Place was enough, although that had been lost to Hermione along the way.

There would be an inscription, he knew, although he hadn't expected this one.

 _Dearest Remus. Happy 17th birthday. Love always._

It was exactly how he had remembered it, with the addition of a bookmark, the tail of which hung over the blue cover.

 _The rose is a rose,  
And was always a rose.  
But the theory now goes  
That the apple's a rose,  
And the pear is, and so's  
The plum, I suppose.  
The dear only know  
What will next prove a rose.  
You, of course, are a rose--  
But were always a rose._

 __

"It's my favourite," Sirius said quietly, shrugging his shoulders in obvious discomfort. "Everything seems to change, but you...you're always here, and still Moony."

Remus swallowed a lump in his throat, placing the book carefully on the table, leaning over the toast to kiss Sirius on the lips. "I'm still not marrying you," he said insistently, refusing to melt at Sirius' sad pout.

"You have to," he said, remarkably sober considering the situation. "It's the tradition, you don't have a choice now."

"It is not tradition for me to give in to you because of poetry," Remus protested vehemently. "In fact, I seem to recall just the opposite on most occasions."

Sirius shook his head, eyes not meeting Remus' own. "That's not what I was talking about," he said awkwardly, shrugging his shoulders. "It was Muggle, I read about it."

Oh. That one. _Something old, something new, something borrowed, something blue..._ It hadn't occurred to him that one book could be all four, but he supposed that was typical of Sirius -- managing to be everything to him at once. He hadn't thought about that tradition since his cousin's wedding as a child. His cousin had nearly gone mad finding the right things, and here it was, so very easy.

 

"Let's talk about it first," Remus begged, belatedly wondering where on earth Sirius had managed to find his original copy of the book, and how much effort must have gone into it. "You can't just spring it on me like this."

"You're not saying yes?" Sirius asked apprehensively, face tighter than Remus could recall seeing it in years.

"I'm not saying no," Remus conceded, sinking back in his chair. It was worth it, to see the way Sirius face lightened, the tension fading from his shoulders. "I simply think it would be...unwise to leap into a decision like this without thinking about it properly first."

Sirius nodded, eyes trained carefully on Remus' face. "I didn't really send out the invitations," he admitted with a wicked grin. Remus frowned, eyes narrowing suspiciously as he wondered what Sirius had done that would make a spontaneous wedding better. "I just figured if you thought that, you wouldn't mind so much about a birthday party."

"You bastard," Remus said, rather shocked. He hated birthday parties, always had, and now he had to sit through one because Sirius was right. It was fair superior to the alternative. "Just wait until Christmas, Padfoot. You're getting coal, I mean it this time."

His eyes narrowed as he watched his lover's gleeful look. "Why were you so concerned about my answer if it didn't matter?" He asked sharply, wondering why the pieces of this puzzle didn't make sense.

Sirius faltered for a moment, shaking his head carelessly. "I didn't want you to say no," he said. "And if you'd said yes, I thought we might have gone through with it."

Another _ah_ moment, Remus thought to himself, wondering if he would ever understand the inner workings of Sirius' mind. "You're cleaning up," he stipulated with a sigh, knowing that would likely not happen either. "And if I get gifts, I shall donate them all to charity."

"Yes Moony," Sirius said obediently. Remus kept his eyes firmly trained on the window; it was easier than getting himself sucked into another of Sirius' brilliant plans. Besides, his mind kept trying to remember whether he did indeed have a Muggle sixpence anywhere. Is that not how the rhyme had ended? _And a sixpence in her shoe_?

He sent a mental rebuke to wherever James was now, that Remus was _not_ a girl. He really did think he had that sixpence somewhere; he should need to hide it from Sirius. It would only make him even more determined.


End file.
